Fork in the Road on a Shining Impala
by Ebony-Ink-Stain
Summary: Sam and Dean team up with a widowed hunter seeking revenge. All she wants is justice. All Sam wants is her heart. Dean just wants pancakes. Rated T because it's freaking Supernatural.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**__ I have only seen up to the beginning of season 2…..so yeah, I'm kinda majorly behind on character development…and plotline…and the current state of the impala. Please remember this if you want to critique the story at any point (Well-crafted critiques are welcome, by all means). I just really really really want to be surprised by what happens next when I watch the next few (six) seasons, so no spoilers please. So if I do anything that' s not cannon, it's probably due to blind ignorance…so we might hit A.U. at some points. Thanks for being courteous. Please enjoy. _

"We're always racing. After each other, the next hunt, against time. The windmill's always spinning, always catching air, never really running out of breath. We just don't expect it to end, ya know? And then, all of a sudden, when it does…I don't know what to do with myself. For the past three years it was him and me, me and him, ripping apart demons and shooting down monsters. And now…now he's gone. One moment I could feel his crossbow vibrate next to me…the next…he's gone. Gone, gone gone. That word doesn't taste right. I've hit the finish line. Don Quixote actually took down the windmill, but it doesn't feel right. I'm missing my partner, my best friend, my lover…and it just feels so _wrong._ " Her hands started shaking. "I mean, look at me. I'm drinking beer." She giggles, near hysterics. "And I hate beer. You know I hate beer Ellen."

Ellen sighed. "Sweetheart, give me the beer," Iris peered up, and sighed. She handed over the beer, but not before taking a swig and grimacing. Ellen glanced at her, weighing the options in her mind. She chucked the beer in the trash. "Iris," she stated calmly. "We need to find you a partner." Iris's eyes widened.

"No," she snapped. "Nononononono no way—"

"Calm down darling," Ellen said, "I misspoke. We need someone for you to hunt with." Ellen smiled kindly, compassion and empathy filling her eyes. When Will had passed, the only thing that kept her going was Jo. Iris didn't have children with Matt. Her heart had been split once. Without Matt, the hunter would just wander, fighting to survive. What she needed was a vacation. Unfortunately, with the reputation her and Matt developed in this line of work that was impossible.

"I'm not getting another partner," Iris began to argue, but Ellen cut her off.

"Sweetheart, I'm not giving you another partner," Ellen's voice hardened a little, like a mother with her child. "You just need someone to roam around with, to watch your back. Fair?" Iris sighed and nodded.

"Alright. Fair."

Ellen relaxed. Iris (unlike some hunters) knew when to take good advice. Now, all Ellen needed to do was find her some good, strong, compatible hunters. Someone who wouldn't dare make a move on the grieving widow.

"Hey Ellen. Who's this beautiful babe you're talking to?"

Well, that was one option shot out the window. "Dean, this is Iris Whitlock. Iris, this is –"

"Dean Winchester," Iris finished. Her lips curled up half-heartedly. "Who hasn't heard of John Winchester's amazing boys?" Mistaking her praise for flirtation, Dean moved in. After all, it wasn't often that a hot hunter occupied the bar.

"So you've heard of us?" he said, "Anything you'd be interested in?" He flashed her a grin that usually had the ladies in his bed by eleven. The girl had curves; she had a good rear end that Dean wouldn't mind squeezing. Pretty eyes, soft lips. This could be his catch before their next hunt.

Iris closed her eyes. Breathe deep. This is a person, not a demon. "Hon, if you try making a move, I will shoot you right in the crotch." Dean slid two barstools over. She gave him a tight smile. "Thank you." Awkward silence thickened the air. Iris bit her lip, trying so hard not to cry. Nothing seemed right without Matt. "Ellen, would you excuse me? I need to go use the restroom." Before Ellen could even reply, Iris took off. Ellen shot a hard look at Dean.

"Good job," she growled. Dean's jaw dropped in shock.

"Me? Whoah whoah whoah. How am I in trouble? She just threatened to shoot me! You heard that, right?!" Dean stared at Sam for backup. Sam just shrugged. He knew better than trying to argue Dean's side at this point. Ellen sighed.

"She just lost her husband. Did your dad ever tell you about the Wendigos in Wyoming?"

Sam and Dean nodded. "Yeah, that was a tough one. " Sam recalled, "Turned out to be three of them there. Heard the hunters on the job took them out in one night. Pretty impressive." Ellen nodded.

"Do you remember their names?" she asked. Sam's eyes lit in recognition. Dean's mouth became a tiny "o".

"Iris and Matt Whitlock…." Dean said softly. He sighed. "Well, that's a shame. So her husband died on a job, huh?"

Ellen nodded. "They were close. Strong hunters, but Iris refuses to go after anything with a human origin. Says something about a tainted soul and insufficient information." Dean and Sam's eyebrows rose at that point. "So they specified in creature hunts. Two of the best I'd ever seen…and they were in love. You could see it in their eyes, boys. I'd never seen two hunters who worked so well together…or argued so much." Ellen chuckled, and then her eyes began to shine. "What she's going through…it's like losing half her soul. She doesn't know what to do. She needs to be with people for a little while, until she can figure out what to do again."

Dean snorted. She sounded a little crazy. Not going after spirits because of "insufficient information"? Didn't sit right. Had to hunt them before they killed someone. "Well, I hope she can find so—"

"She can come with us."

Dean started incredulously at Sam. "Sammy—"

"Dean." Sam stared at Dean. For a split second Sam tried imagining life without his brother…and just couldn't. There was no way Sam could survive without Dean. No, it wasn't like a wife, or being in love, but this was his brother. His hunting partner. His best friend. To have someone that important to you standing by your side one minute, then ripped away from you the next…well, he came too close to the feeling too many times to even think about it. Staring at his brother's bewildered face, Sam knew he felt the same way.

"Dean, I think she needs somebody right now. Besides, she's good." Sam turned to Ellen. "How's she with demons?"

"She's got no problems casting them back into hell, if that's what you mean."

Sam nodded. Dean groaned.

"Fine. Fine. I'll do it. But only cause she's cute, ya hear?" Ellen and Sam nodded. They both knew it was more than that. Right at that moment, Iris walked out of the bathroom. Sam approached her.

"Mrs. Whitlock?"

Iris laughed. "Oh hon, don't do that. I'm only a couple years older than you. Call me Iris."

Sam chuckled. "Fine. Iris then….Iris, would you mind joining me and my brother for a little while?"

Iris eyed Dean cautiously. "If he even tries to bat an eye at me—"

"Please feel free to shoot him wherever you like." Dean's arms flew up into the air, jaw now barely hanging by its hinges. Sam laughed inwardly, noting a fleeting smile crossing Iris's face.

"Alright then. You've got yourself a deal, Mr. Winchester," she said, holding out her hand. Sam smiled and clasped her hand.

"Call me Sam."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean snored into his pillow. Sleep seemed to be the only normal thing in his life, and he treasured every minute of it. Amazing dreams with beautiful women, where no one died and supernatural evil wasn't trying to kill him. Nothing, absolutely nothing, disturbed his sleep.

"DEAN!"

Except Sam.

He shot up like a silver bullet. Dean swiped the pistol out from underneath his pillow. "What? What is it?!" Dean freaked, pointing the gun toward the bedroom door. However, after one glance at Sam's face, he realized there was absolutely nothing to freak out over…except that maybe Sam had lost his marbles.

"Pancakes!" Sam said excitedly. Dean hadn't seen him this close to peeing his pants since the "Fluffy Goes A-Hunting" he made up when Sam was six. Dean stared at him quizzically.

"Repeat that?" he asked.

"Pancakes." Sam whispered like a kid at Christmas. His face lit up like a chuckling jack o'lantern. "Real food. Real, nongreasy non-fast food food." Dean rolled his eyes. Seriously, all this for pancakes?

"Dude, it's pancakes," Dean said. "I hardly think it's worth freaking out over…" He would have continued on, except that the grin on Sam's face was somewhat terrifying.

"Oh yeah." Sam leaned in closer, the maniacal grin widening. Dean took a half-step back as his brother whispered in his ear, "What if I told you she was making pie?"

He froze. "Pie?"

Sam nodded. "Pie."

Time froze. A brief second later, the brothers bolted out of the bedroom. The warm scent of cinnamon and sugar wafted through the air. Dean drooled. Okay. This was totally worth freaking out over. Geez, he couldn't remember the last time he had a real home cooked meal. Like, real food, not pre-frozen and slammed between two slightly-stale patties real. Dean quickly wiped off the little bit of spittle dribbling from his mouth. He was glad Iris was still facing the stove. Okay, so it might be a little nice having her around, but he still wasn't sure about her being a hunting buddy. But not permanently. Nope, no matter how good her—ooohhh, was that whipped cream on top?

"How do you afford this?" Sam asked, "Like, taking the time to make this, and the money to buy all this crap and haul it around?"

Iris laughed. "Well, you can't hunt on an empty stomach…and this is Matt and I's home…so when we come home from hunting trips, we have the food stored up…as to affording the place. Well, I've sold all of our adventures as fantasy novels—"

"Isn't that dangerous? I mean, aren't you afraid of demons or monsters tracking you down?" Dean inquired. Crap, was this chick going to be more trouble than she was worth?

Iris rolled her eyes.

"What, you think I'm stupid enough to tell everything word for word? I keep all the mythology in tact, like the false truth that garlic works on vampires and that they dissolve in sunlight. All the stupid stuff that no hunter believes…but the characters you meet…the personalities…that's something to write about. Of course, I change major details so no one suspects, and I send in scripts everywhere we go. No one set location—"

"And the money?"

"Cash upfront, mailed to different P.O. boxes. Just as easy as multiple credit card scams." Sam opened his mouth to refute, but Iris waved him off. "Hon, almost everyone does it. After all, who would believe you if you said you hunted demons for a career?"

Dean nodded. "If's tue," he stated, stuffing himself with pancakes, "No one wouf fink stho." He swallowed (At this point Dean decided to sneak his fork toward Sam's pancakes. The next thing Dean knew a knife was vibrating a centimeter away from his fingers. The look on Sam's face spelled death.) . Iris nodded.

"It helps that it's all underground. If we ever hit big success I'd have to quit writing. Too dangerous."

Sam nodded. "So what did your husband do?" Iris winced involuntarily, and he was immediately sorry for even asking in the first place. Her smile wavered, and her voice quavered, but she kept herself together quite well.

"Matt...was the repairman at Ellen's. When anything was broken at the bar, he would fix it. Electric, furniture, you name it, he did it. Did some repair work for other hunters too on their weapons and such," Iris said. Her eyes misted, "Jack of all trades, master of one."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "And what was he a master of?"

A tear dripped down Iris's cheek. "He was the master of my heart," she whispered. Sam's heart melted. He wished he could say something comforting, something he wished was said to him when Jess died. Something. Anything. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I like pancakes."

Sam stared incredulously at Dean.

"I like pancakes so much, I might like them almost as much as pie," Dean stabbed another one off the grill. "Yup. Me and pancakes. Soulmates, we are. " He paused mid-bite and looked up. "What?" Sam just stared at him, slowly shaking his head. "What? What did I miss?"

"Jerk," Sam muttered. Dean shrugged and happily munched on. Trying to make up for his brother's error, Sam opened his mouth to apologize, but noticed Iris was…laughing?

And pretty hard at that. It took her a minute to calm down.

"You and Matt would have gotten along so well," she giggled. "Gosh, I wish he was here to see this. Working with John Winchester's boys. We worked with your dad a couple of times, did you know that?" Sam shook his head, but Dean nodded.

"Yeah, said you two were some of the best creature hunters he's seen, but you'd die if you ever ran into a spirit. Apparently," Dean helped himself to another pancake, "You have this crazy idea that spirits can be 'talked' out of being vengeful." Iris nodded.

"I do." Sam stared at her cautiously. Was this woman serious? "Their inmost nature is still human, and human nature changes. I think that it's possible to revert the spirit back to its original form without having to destroy anything."

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. "Did you….ever try out this theory?"

Iris sighed, helping herself to some pancakes. "Once. I almost got killed. Matt was furious. Refused to even go near a spirit again—"

"So what? See a spirit attacking a town, you just let people suffer?" Dean snorted. Iris shook her head vehemently.

"No, of course not," she said, "We've got some great connections with other hunters. Make sure someone gets the job done…I just can't fight a spirit without the feeling that there's a better way—"

"So if we go up against a spirit—"

"I'll play defensive. Cover you guys and make sure no one gets hurt while you take care of it." She stared at both of them. "Look, I know that's unnerving. I get it. But it would give me a chance to study spirits. Get some more information on them. You guys do your thing, and I promise I won't do anything to get you killed. Trust me, I'm not in the business to risk lives on my crazy theory."

Sam nodded. Sounded like a legit plan, and it would be nice to have another person watching their backs. Dean, however, didn't look as convinced.

"What about your husband? How do we know you didn't get him killed based on this crazy theory?" he asked. After all, she might _say _she didn't want people dead, but there was a dead husband she hadn't explained, and this chick just spouted some pretty crazy crap.

One look at her face, and Dean threw the whole theory out the window. There was rage, vengence written all over her face. Her eyes burned white-hot, and the weepy widow had suddenly transformed into a deadly hunter. Dean had seen that look before. In fact, that look had raised him for 22 years.

"No spirit killed my husband," she said. "That—" Anger flooded her body, and Iris stabbed her knife into the thick wood countertop. When she removed her trembling hand, only the hilt was visible.

"That was the work of a monster. And that monster is _mine_."


End file.
